Oh, was she down at heel in the town of Lille
Or at large in La Rochelle?
Or letting down her hair in the Follies Bergere
- Belly-dancing her way to hell?
Was she singing the blues, below in Toulouse
Or picking pockets in Perpignan?
And, mein Gott! but what if her name was not
Chantal de Champignon?

Well, I'd lost the scent so gung-o I went
To phone Monsieur Mitterand.
But I couldn't connect with the President
Although I threatened his aide-de-camp.
Then the towel I threw, I resigned, withdrew
Although I had done no wrong.
Oh, I thought I had her taped - but the vixen she escaped
Like Marie de Robinson!

Regards